


Cranes

by VSSAKJ



Category: Kushiel's Legacy - Jacqueline Carey
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-20
Updated: 2007-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 07:50:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1639847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VSSAKJ/pseuds/VSSAKJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for Mara Celes. No reference to Kushiel's Justice involved, sketchy characterisation and awkward tenses are all apologised for.</p><p>2014 new addition notes: At the time of writing this piece, I hadn't read Kushiel's Justice at all. I have never been especially proud of this work for that reason and others, but rereading the comments left in 2007 has warmed me to it, at least enough to proclaim it mine.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Cranes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Mara Celes. No reference to Kushiel's Justice involved, sketchy characterisation and awkward tenses are all apologised for.
> 
> 2014 new addition notes: At the time of writing this piece, I hadn't read Kushiel's Justice at all. I have never been especially proud of this work for that reason and others, but rereading the comments left in 2007 has warmed me to it, at least enough to proclaim it mine.

It is a strange thing, to have a man fall on bended knee before you and declare that he will walk with you until you die. To vow upon his honour that your word alone shall be the talk he takes as truth, and to swear that he will never act in a manner that you see as incorrect. I have knelt before, but never been kneeled to. The sensations are wholly different.

It is a strange thing, to have a man older than you, wiser than you and on the whole quite a lot larger than you in any way one can think of to plea -- but plea in a manner so eloquent that you cannot bear to call it pleading, only... requesting? Justifying.

It is strange.

It is stranger still, and discomfitting, for this man to have been an absent presence in your life for several long years.

Strangest of all, for it to be Duc Barquiel l'Envers.

* * *

The day I met with him was in spring, before the earth had really begun to warm and everything was quite cool. I had no idea what the time of day was, but it was one of those when no one really seems to be alive. He came to Montreve, perhaps knowing I would be more comfortable -- more likely to accept his offer? -- if I was there.

He came alone, too, which I found oddly disconcerting. To be confronted alone can be dangerous and can be advantageous; to travel alone can be the same. I wondered where his motives lay.

The household were occupied with their own tasks, no one paying me any particular mind. It was safest there, as it always was. Circumstances ran interestingly that day, that he would arrive when no one was near, that I would be feeling enough myself (strong enough to take him, wise enough to bide my time) to deign to tak with him -- he didn't want to be where anyone would overhear.

"It is a matter between men." He said carefully, keeping his pale eyes downcast, "Only the two it affects."

I'd spent long enough paying little heed to my status that I had to feel doubt on that matter, but I only nodded, asking him, "Where?"

He deferred to me; I was surprised, "It is your home. You would know before I would."

So I led him, away from the main house but not too far -- before we reached the paths to the mountains, I stopped and looked him over before saying simply, "Keep your hands in front of you."

It was foolish, really. There was something... it must have been what he said. I would normally not have been so reckless; recklessness was costly and I knew that well.

He obliged, so I kept on.

I did not take him far up the mountains, only until there was a small outcrop off the trail that overlooked where we had come from. The house was visible, easily, and I would be as well -- if he did not move forward any farther, he would not be. Moreover, we would be aware of anyone coming before they drew near enough to become an interruption.

I did not expect there would be any great problem. I turned to him, and asked simply, "What did you wish to discuss?"

He was a proud man, I observed. He did not sit while I remained standing, and stood tall at that. And here, so far from where he now called home, he still wore the Akkadian style of clothing; bore it well, as if it were no burden. I wondered if anyone had spoken to him about it as he travelled, or if he had even been spoken to at all. I wonder if he came in secret; there was a lot to wonder about in that stretch of silence he took to begin.

His pride carried through his speech; he did not grovel. His words were blunt and honest.

"Imriel no Montreve de la Courcel. I have, for a very long time, wished only for your death. You know I sought to make that happen. I do not regret, withdraw or apologise for these actions. It may be that they were done for selfish reasons, and it may be not. Does this bother you?"

I shook my head, silent. His mysteries only grew.

"Wise. You know I have watched you with eyes not my own for nearly the same length of time. Those eyes saw only what I had instructed they see; your flaws, your errors, and all that would make you fallible. This was what was reported to me." He silenced for a moment, looking out over Montreve. His words were heavier when he continued, "There was much about you they did not report."

A chill went down my spine, at that; I had too many secrets too many people did not need to know. Thankfully, he did not cite them.

"I have been reflecting then, for a long while, about what values I hold to. About this country. About you yourself. My decision... my thoughts... the matter was complex." He shook his head. "What it came to, in the end, was that you are deeply ingrained in the future of Terre d'Ange. If I support the future of Terre d'Ange, as I supported it in the past, then likewise my support must go to you."

I did not follow the logic, but did not speak a protest. Next I found myself watching in some fascination as he slowly lowered down to one knee and bowed his head before me, saying lowly, "I swear, on all that you believe in and all that I believe in, that I will follow you, and only you, Prince Imriel. It is fealty, loyalty, submission, bond... however you will define it, I am yours."

A politician will say those things and not mean them, I knew. I wondered if that was how cynical Sidonie felt when I said something of the same to her. I wondered what the feeling morphed into when the vow proved to be true. I remained silent, pensive.

He spoke again, having remained still, "Do you accept my vow?"

Did I. I had turned away from him, not entirely, and now turned back, gazing down at him. The worst this situation could result in was my death, was it not? Had I not already risked that by coming here? "Stand, Duc l'Envers."

He did.

"Give me your hands and repeat yourself." It felt stranger, that way; it felt like he should be subjecting himself to say those words, like it would be easier to present them properly if he was bent.

He repeated himself in the same tone, unwavering.

My stomach turned. We were too near to one another now; anyone could see the pair of us. Did that lend to my decision? Did that make me hesitate?

"Do you accept my vow?" He repeated.

"...Yes."

I had no other words.


End file.
